


Auf Wiedersehen

by WarriorOmen



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternative Universe-Noir, Amputation, Blood Play, Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Detective Noir, Divorce, Drug Use, F/M, Gangs, Knife Play, M/M, Mutilation, Smoking, Violence, dark!Will, historical fiction - Freeform, mafia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-11
Updated: 2014-09-11
Packaged: 2018-02-16 23:09:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2287934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WarriorOmen/pseuds/WarriorOmen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“America is war obsessed.' Lecter countered, “First the Germans, then the Koreans and now the Russians; all in the span of what barely counts as a decade. This country seems as though it is constantly displeased unless someone is donning a uniform and shooting the closest enemy.”</p><p>In 1953, a strange death toll begins to rise among the veterans of the Second World War, even though the most recent wars are still in full play. Detective Will Graham is assigned to track down the killer, unwittingly enlisting the aid of Count Hannibal Lecter, a Lithuanian noble that settled in America. </p><p>But neither man is honest with the other, and they soon come to discover that there's a greater darkness to them both than any murder case can surpass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Auf Wiedersehen

**_Office of Det. Graham. VPD. 1953_ **

_Fog hung itself in a blanket over the tops of Virginia, U.S of A that evening, making my windows appear as cloudy and muddled as the eye witness testimonies one was made to withstand on a far to regular basis._

_Too regular a basis._

_Often times, these poor tormented souls would wring their hearts out like a mother washing an overused dishrag against the pavement. Beating newness into the stained, frayed fabric._

_Once the war ended, society dwindled into a desperate clean up routine that left the country bereft and confused._

_But I don't pretend like that's some kind of rarity. People don't come to me because they want smiles and chats._

_Usually, once that door opens and the boss comes in with all the subtly of a bomb being dropped on Harbor; I know that my day is about to get more exciting. In that sort of irritating way that comes with a pre-meditation before an itch, and Crawford's convinced I'm the only one that's capable of scratching it._

_Scratching his ball sack more like, but I don't deny him the chance to pick my brain._

_After all, I'm not a goddamned priest, I'm a detective, an oddly talented one in the sense that my head's clearer than the others._

_So Crawford would have anyone whom dared to challenge him might say._

_Which is why tonight, when he came pounding on my door at quarter after eight, I knew my night was set._

“Sergeant John Trippkin.” Crawford explained, eyeing up the body of the now deceased soldier. Will bent himself down to better evaluate the body. Were one not so attune, you could assume he was sleeping. Straight up at the head of the dinner table, still set for one.

A fly buzzed near the abandoned chicken and potatoes, Will swatted it absently with the back of his hand. Trippkin was rock solid and staring straight ahead. His features serene and passive. One hand curled passively about the handle of his ivory dinner fork, the other resting against the blue flowered edge of the plate.

“Are there any signs of a struggle?” Will asked, more to make conversation than because he outright needed to ask. It was obvious to anyone that Trippkin had barely moved at all; let alone struggled.

“None. A neighbour came to return a fireplace pick to him and got concerned when he didn't respond. His vehicle was in the driveway, and the lights of the dining room were still on, so he knew him to be home; after several attempts of knocking he opened the door. Which was unlocked.”

“So he either knew his killer, or this was accidental.”

“Doesn't seem to be accidental, detective Graham.”

Will agreed, but instead of replying, he studied the scene more thoroughly and sniffed the air. “Is it possible that he died via ingestion?” He asked, crossing to the pale green kitchen and, with the aid of a dishtowel, opening the drawer and withdrawing another fork. Ivory handled, much like the one currently hanging between Trippkin's eternally solid fingers.

Returning to the table, Will examined the chicken with the be-dishtoweled fork and saw three obvious cuts. Trippkin had clearly eaten before his death. 

“Have an examination done of his stomach, throat and mouth. He ingested three pieces of this chicken before succumbing to his death. Poison is most likely. What do we know of the victim?”

“He fought in the war ‘till 45' then returned and became a salesman. Something a bit 'easier' on the system. He has no wife nor children. Not yet forty. Well liked. If a bit silent.”

“So no obvious reason as to why someone might want him dead then.” Will sighed. It wasn't much to go on. His vision was beginning to fade at the edges. Illuminating the harsher planes of the dining room. Creases of the common floral print wallpaper making sharp jolts in the corners of his eye. As if demanding to suck Will into their secrets.

As they always said, _if walls could talk; oh the secrets they'd tell._

Will backed up a foot, managing to only avoid hitting the table with his hip by a narrow margin. The dining room faded into black swirls that left an echo in his ear, his fingers clawing at the edge of the table top, digging into wood but unable to penetrate the solid oak.

_Trippkin had nothing to lose. In the saddest, most literal way that one could possibly have nothing to lose._

_Back in '40, at the age of 21 he was drafted like the other hundreds of thousands of American Boys and Men that needed to get in gear and fight the German's from completely dominating the world. With no wife, no children and barely any friends, Trippkin was one of the few that had no hesitation when it came to signing up._

_He fought well for a scrawny Virginia native. Good with a gun, better with an eye. Came home decorated, but largely forgotten once the war whispers faded out and men returned to their women._

_Modest existence really. Cared about only for as long as you were working for. He should have come back a King, instead he was as insignificant as a dusty china doll. One would never know how important he'd once been. How they'd cheered for the men like him not even ten years passed._

_But maybe that was fate. Maybe that was why when he sat himself down to his simple dinner, the radio playing late night news and final days events in the background; there was no cause for any commotion. No one to see when he chewed, swallowed, chewed, swallowed, chewed, and expired._

_Not outdone by a tank, but by a goddamned piece of baked chicken. No different than the kind any mama used to make back on the farm._

_How disgustingly ironic._

“Graham!”

Crawford's elaborate barking brought Will out of his momentary stupor and he glanced about his surroundings. Sweat inelegantly decorated his forehead, and he gave a small sigh. 

“Nothing to lose, and nobody to miss. Have the coroner come by to bring him back to the office.” Will adjusted the bottom of his waistcoat, reached for his hat and began to make a hasty exit.

“We are not finished here Graham!” Jack shouted to his retreating back. But Will paid him no mind and made his way down the road. Glad to have walked to the scene rather than driven. Gas prices were still a little bit on the edge for his liking, and the brisk evening allowed for him to clear his thoughts. Bring about a sense of realization as he strolled to the Station.

“Detective Graham?” 

At first, Will wasn't aware that someone was trying to get his attention. Only the hand that suddenly manifested upon his shoulder was enough to rouse him from his stupor, and he whirled, expecting Jack.

“Oh.. Count Lecter.” Will flustered, “My apologies, I had thought you were Crawford again.”

Lecter gave him a bemused smile Will could only partially see in the rapidly deseeding darkness. “I believe we have only met a few times in brief passing, which might explain your lack of recognition.” 

“Everyone in Maine, Virginia and beyond is aware of you, count.”

“Yet you are not commonly amongst those whom do. More the shame really.”

Will didn't know how to answer such a blunt statement, bringing his glasses further down his nose, meeting Lecter's impassive face with a barely restrained grimace. “You are out late; and far from home.” He commented.

“Yes, I was asked to attend a luncheon today with Lady Donovan.” Lecter announced, with no sign of pride in his tone. “I was on my way to the train, I am eager to head home for some supper. Late though it might be.”

“Have you not your own vehicle?” Will asked, rudely.

Lecter seemed only more amused by his bluntness. “I take pleasure in not driving sometimes. Especially after a delicate sampling of many wines and cheeses.”

What a fine way to spend one's evening. Will was about to open his mouth, but his stomach gave a protesting rumble instead. Will was unable to remember the last time he'd eaten.

Unfortunately, Lecter's keen ears took great note of the rumbling. “Perhaps I am not alone in my desire for a fulfilling meal. Would you join me, detective?”

Graham had heard about Lecter's dinner parties. Crawford himself often raved of them. But he felt dirty in his rumpled suit. Unshaven. “That's kind, but I hardly think..”

“Please.” Lecter's tone was firm. “I would insist. You are far too frail for a man your size.”

“Well thank you' Will snorted. “But I really do not think..”

“My apologies.” Sounding completely unapologetic. “But I am unable to take any sort of refusal right now.”

The train ride was quiet, Will too lost in his thoughts to pay much mind to the journey, and Lecter rifling through his briefcase, apparently concerned with some paperwork. Or giving Will the space he unconsciously needed, Graham was grateful even though unsure.

Lecter's home was as stately as Will imagined it might be, a three story affair that had vast French windows and a well kept porch that even in the dark gave off the appeal of being regal and well maintained.

“Have you a gardener?” Will asked, 

The count gave him an interesting look Will couldn’t quite read, something between amused and slightly pained. If the man actually would have the decency to look pained, come to think.

“Hardly. I would never trust another with my flowers.” Sounding assuredly insulted by the assumption. He quickly recovered, turning to Will. “I find the practice relaxing.”

Will merely nodded, accepting the open door and stepping through it. The inside of Lecter's home was as stately and put together as the rest. Fine dark wall paper and velvet furniture. But most peculiar was a set of Samurai armour hanging behind a glass case at the very end of the hallway, shrine like.

“Strange piece to see in an American home.” Will commented, indicating the armour. “I do hope you kept dinner guests minimal during the war.”

Lecter chuckled behind Will's immediate right, “It is far to splendid a piece to keep in storage. However, self preservation dictated that I was unable to keep it in the spotlight for.. sometime.”

There were many things Will could ask in relation to that, but his stomach chose that moment utter another shameful, perfunctory growl.

“Please” Lecter indicated a dining room that appeared to have an indoor garden that almost matched the luster of the outdoor one. “Make yourself at home. I took the liberty to prepare a succulent cut of roasted lamb before leaving for Virginia this morning. It should take only a moment to add the vegetables and plate.”

“Do you always prepare such elaborate meals for yourself?” Will asked.

“I take great pleasure and pride in food.” Lecter called from the kitchen, Will's chair did not even scrape the hardwood as he sat himself down. “I care not that sometimes the preparation takes the better part of the day, as I find the journey to be as exciting and rewarding as the actual consumption of the meal.”

“An interesting notion, considering the entire purpose of food is to place it in your mouth and fuel the body.” Graham snorted, plucking his leather gloves from the tips of his fingers, setting them down about the white cloth of the table.

“Not exactly.” Lecter returned, coming to the dining table and setting down steaming ivory serving dishes. Will's mouth watered involuntarily. “Food can be used to find a great deal of many things about a person, and one is more likely to reveal things about themselves when besotted with decent wine and savory dishes than if they had not anything with which to occupy their senses in the first place.”

Graham raised one of his unkempt brows, taking up the finely polished silverware and grasping a piece of roasted lamb in the prongs, nearly undone by the smell. 

“May I?” He asked, now so hungry that he could barely think beyond consumption. The count hooked one finger around his wine glass and brought the tip to just below the nose, maroon eyes downcast as he sniffed minimally and sipped. The motion of his throat smoothed and relaxed. 

“Please do. Lest it become cold.”

Will took the moment to bring the lamb to his mouth. Immediately, his mouth became drenched in spices, soft meat and just the faintest hint of sauce. The meat slid so delicately over his teeth that he could barely contain the hearty, deep throated groan that followed his swallow.

“Do you find yourself pleased, detective Graham?”

“Where did you _get_ this lamb?” Will asked, rudely stabbing another piece in his haste to get more in his mouth before the tempting flavour completely vanished from the depths of his mouth. “Surely our sad excuse for a local market did not provide you with such meat.”

“Absolutely not.” Lecter chuckled. 'I make a habit of taking my car out to the country when I find myself with the necessary free time and choose one whilst the beast is still in movement. Easier than to tell how the meat will be.” Finally taking a bite himself.

Will just nodded, only half listening. Far too concerned with his meal. Lecter's food was so positively delicious that Graham's ravenous stomach became greedy with haste.

They ate in comfortable silence for many moments following that, the Count's impassive eyes fixated on every bite Will took. Deeply pleased, but careful not to make it quite so obvious to the weathered detective. A private curling of his lips as he chewed his own mouthfuls with far more care and delicacy.

Whilst engaged, Lecter's eyes took note of a solid link of brass about the finger Will was tapping his wine glass with, finally interrupting the silence to inquire,

“I am afraid I must be uncharacteristically rude in this moment, detective.” Gesturing to the wedding band with his knife. “I do hope your wife is not left feeling too bereft at this impromptu invitation of mine.”

“What...” Will glanced down, confused for a moment, before he drew his hand down to his lap as though he'd been bit. “Oh that. I..” He gave an awkward cough. “I am divorced. Several years now. I merely forgot to take the ring off. Neglected, you might say.”

“Divorced..” Lecter rolled the word over his tongue. “I would not have thought divorce common among the Virginia natives.”

Will shrugged, stabbing more lamb. “Molly and I.. had many differences and no kin to keep us joined.”

A clock chimed close to midnight in the distance, the dining room shrouded in silence after that. 

“I have never been married, nor have I born children.” Lecter commented, finally, returning to his own food. The matter so quickly dropped Will would wonder if the count was disturbed by having made the revelation obvious to Will.

Silence continued to spread, the sound of forks scraping the edges of the plates. It was not until the clock chimed the half hour that Will shook himself out of his stupor, setting down his fork. Stifling a yawn.

“Forgive me..” Sounding shameful, “I had not been aware that it was so late, I'll have missed the last train out.”

“Hardly a worry.” Lecter said, standing to his feet. “My home sustains many guest rooms. You are welcome to stay.”

“Oh..” Will yawned again. “That's..very kind of you..”

Lecter pulled Will's chair back, “My pleasure. It would be unthinkable for you to drive to another state at such a late hour, so full of wine as you are.”

Will could have sworn he'd only taken to a glass or two, but he did not protest the hand on the small of his back, sweat lightly dampening the cotton dress shirt. The stairs were so well kept they did not creak, even beneath the weight of two fully grown men.

The count guided Will into a room that beheld a large bed with fresh sheets, and a deep green quilt that looked so inviting Will had to turn his head.

“Do you always keep the rooms so well prepared?”

“One must be ready to expect any outcome when one is prone to hosting several individuals. Some whom are quite unable to hold their wine.”

“Oh..” Will was unable to answer beyond that. His eyes had become so heavy it was a massive effort even to step into the room itself, Lecter's barely noticeable hand on the small of his back, sweat covered though it was keeping him standing.

“There are spare, clean pyjama's in the top drawer.” Lecter pointed, “Please rest well. I'll wake you for breakfast if I neglect to see you before eight am.”

“Mm.. thank you.” Will broke then, or maybe Lecter nudged him, it was impossible to tell. The door clicked behind him and all Graham could do was shrug out of his clothes and slip beneath the covers that were as soft as they had looked from the doorway. Asleep before any other ideas could come to pass.

~~

In the hallway, Lecter drew a small vial of white powder from his waistcoat and hummed thoughtfully. 

Grabbing a flashlight from the side table at the end of the staircase, Hannibal allowed himself a moment to listen carefully, making sure that Will was indeed sufficiently drugged and would not rise from his stupor-like sleep until Lecter was ready for him too.

There was a pantry at the back of the kitchen, with an additional door that Lecter unlocked, mounting the stairwell and creeping down. Chains rattled weakly in the distance, and Lecter rose the flashlight to illuminate the cellar with its soft yellow glow, hovering over the source of the noise.

Sweat and unwashed hair filled his delicate sinuses, though he barely cringed at the harsh assault. Curling about the edge of his nose with the putrid scent of decay and festering wounds.

“Ah.” He approached his captive, bending down into a crouch, shining the light towards the groaning man, dark brown hair hung in loose bands and plastered themselves to a narrow forehead. Light eyes barely capturing the light shone towards them, teetering on the brink of death.

“You are quite lucky that I keep a clean home, Chilton.” Lecter amended. “Lest the rats and maggots would be having a fine supper of what remains of your leg.”

Chilton's answer came in a bit of moan he could barely form words of. Lecter tapped the edge of his bloodied, sticky left leg, or rather, the remains of it. No more than a sampling of flesh that protruded from the groin.

With a clinical detachment, Lecter ran his bare fingers down the knotted flesh, tracing over the burned knot where he'd cauterized it. Chilton jerked weakly, unable to summon the strength to put up any real fuss for the discomfort.

“I must thank you, of course.” His fingers pressing inwards jsut so, testing the thickness of the flesh that still remained. “Your thigh made for a truly delectable roast tonight. Sweet. Much unlike yourself of course.”

“..K...i..please..'

“What was that?” Lecter withdrew a small switch blade from his waistcoat pocket and brought it to the tip of Chilton's chin. Forcing him to make eye contact.

“M..e..kill..me”

“All in good time, Frederick” Lecter soothed. “All in good time.”

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the wonderful Bijou_1986
> 
> Although the style commonly known as noir made popular by such epic's like _Sin City_ and the like is far better suited for the comic book, graphic novel or film due to it's first person narration that is _far_ better told by visuals, I am sort of in love with the genre and the style that it brings. And while I've not yet read Frank Millers incredible _Sin City_ it's definitely on my list. 
> 
> Never the less, I've made an attempt. I hope it isn't too poor of one; and that you all enjoy it.
> 
> For updates,notes,etc please visit my tumblr, [WarriorOmen](www.warrioromen.tumblr.com)


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